


Sex and Games In New York City

by JesseTheComet



Category: Falsettos - Lapine/Finn, Falsettos - Lapine/Finn (Broadway Cast) RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Don't Read This, Everyone Needs A Hug, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, I know nothing about music, I wrote this randomly, I'm a sucker for characters writing their musical, Ignore this, M/M, Marvin and Christian Borle are seperate people!!, Modern Era, Self-Indulgent, Short, Short Chapters, This Is STUPID, Whizzer loves music, Whizzer went to theater school, Whizzer writes Falsettos, kind of, there might be more, yes - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-13
Updated: 2018-02-13
Packaged: 2019-03-17 21:44:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13667889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JesseTheComet/pseuds/JesseTheComet
Summary: The idea comes to him late at one night. It was precisely 4:03 AM on August 14, 2014. He had written music before, of course. Just never without any instruments. He could do it. He could count, he could sing melodies in his head.He asks for a large notebook the next morning. A pencil. And a pen._______________________________________________________________Whizzer writes Falsettos on his death bed with a help of an old friend.His family has no idea what's going on.





	Sex and Games In New York City

**Author's Note:**

> I love thinking about character's writing their own musicals, and I've thought about Whizzer doing it too many times to count.
> 
> This idea came to me, and I wrote it down. This is entirely self-indulgent, and pretty stupid. Don't read this.
> 
> :)

Whizzer was in the hospital for four days when he knew he wasn’t going to make it out. He knew, deep down. He could feel his body failing, could see his soul dying in front of him. His family losing hope. Lying in the hospital bed, Whizzer knew he would never accomplish the things he wanted to do.

 Get married.

 He glances over at Marvin at his bedside, throat tightening.

 Have children. 

On his other side was Jason, idly playing chess.

 Write music.

 His fingers itched, ached to hold a keyboard. A violin, a flute. Anything.

 Write a show.

 His closed eyes open.

 Write a show…

 Write a show..

 The idea comes to him late at one night. It was precisely 4:03 AM on August 14, 2014. He had written music before, of course. Just never without any instruments. He could do it. He could count, he could sing melodies in his head.

 He asks for a large notebook the next morning. A pencil. And a pen.

 He starts asking questions, seemingly random questions. His family humors him because they know he’s going to die. He asks how Trina dealt with her divorce, in which she explains she had various mental breakdowns. And comes “I’m Breaking Down.” It’s the first song he finishes, though he writes it to have a musical break in the beginning. He can’t sing it, but he can practically hear the music in his head. Maybe it’s the incredibly bad ear infection he has, or maybe it’s just his inspiration.

 

 He finds out his body isn’t responding to the medication by Charlotte at his bed on June 3, 2014. His eyes were too full of tears to read the time.

 

He only becomes more determined.

 He finishes two other songs before he realizes he can’t do it on his own. He sighs, realizing this at 2:04 PM on July 13, 2014. He flags Charlotte down by using his handy-dandy “Call Nurse” button. She barges in, looking panicked.

 “What’s wrong?” She asks, eyes wide. Whizzer manages to force a laugh out of his dry, cracked lips.

 “Nothing. I’m not dead yet.” Charlotte glares at him, eyes getting glassy. Whizzer shakes his head.

 “I need you to get me a phone. I want to call someone.” Her eyebrow raises. He’s voiced several times that he has no family left. Nonetheless, she nods. “I’ll get it to you as soon as soon as possible.”

 As soon as possible is apparently an hour later, when the rest of the family was there. They all made an effort to all be there once a week, and they chose today. His luck.

 Charlotte enters the room. “I got you what you asked, Whizzer. Sorry it took me so long, I-” She stops when she sees the rest of the Tight Knit Family huddled around in his large room. “Oh. Hey, guys.” She hands Whizzer a white landline phone. He laughs, taking it from her. Marvin raises his eyebrows from beside of him.

 “He said he wanted to make a call.” The doctor answers for him, shrugging. Whizzer is embarrassed. Everyone is staring at him. He takes the phone off of the receiver, twirling the curled cord around his finger. He closes his eyes, muttering under his breath.

 “Please let him have the same phone number.” He says, taking in a deep breath and ignoring the burning in his lungs. He doesn’t look over at Marvin, but he can feel the jealousy and possessiveness radiating off of him. Whizzer would laugh if he could. He could tell Marvin thought he was calling an ex-lover.

 He enters the numbers slowly, making sure to get every digit right. Jason leans over, watching Whizzer.

“Who are you calling, Whizzer?” The twelve year old asks, just as the phone begins to ring. Whizzer puts a finger to his own lips to silence him. The phone rings, and rings, and rings. Whizzer’s heart sinks. He should have known. Why in the hell would he have the same phone number, he was so foolish-

 “Hello?” A deep voice croons over the phone.

 Whizzer’s mouth goes dry. He opens his lips, the skin sticking to itself in dehydration.

 “Christian?” He asks quietly, voice nearly cracking. A sharp inhale on the other side.

 “....Whizzer?” Christian asks after a moment. Whizzer let’s out of a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

 “Oh, thank god.” He says in relief, slumping against the pillows behind his back. Everyone in the room is quiet. Deathly quiet.

 “Oh my god,” Christian laughs heartily. “It’s been..so long. How did you remember my phone number?” Whizzer closes his eyes, thinking.

 “Whizzer?” His eyes open back up when Christian says his name.

 “Yeah, yeah. I’m here, sorry.” He nods, even though Christian can’t see it. “Listen, um...you’re not still in New York, are you?”

 “I am.” Another sigh of relief.

 “I need your..I..” Whizzer tries to collect himself. “Christian, I’m dying.” Charlotte glares at him from the other side of the room and he can hear the silent “You’re not dying Whizzer, you just haven’t responded to the treatment yet.”

 Marvin looks broken.

 Christian stutters over his words.

 “What do you-? What do you mean you’re _dying?_ ” He asks, voice shaking. Whizzer smiles. Even after nearly twenty years, Christian still had a heart of gold. Caring about a college roommate dying nearly twenty three years later.

 “Listen, Chris.” Whizzer dodges the question. “I need your help. I really do.” Everyone but Whizzer seems confused, even Christian.

 “With what?” He asks, and there’s shuffling on the other side of the phone.

 Whizzer shakes his head. “Are you free right now? Today? Tomorrow?”

 “I’m free now.”

 Whizzer’s legs start to shake as excitement builds in him. “Good, good. Come to the hospital downtown, bring your keyboard, if you have one. Who am I kidding, of course you have one. Maybe a flute, too. Fuck, bring an entire orchestra.” A genuine smile stretches across his dry lips. It has no pain in it. He feels young again. “I’m in room…” Whizzer looks over at Charlotte for help. Even after four months in the hospital, he still couldn’t remember his room number.

 She mouths “424” at him.

 “424.” He repeats. “My friend will come to get you in. Get here as fast as you can.” Whizzer clenches his jaw. “Don’t stress. I’ll see you.” Without giving Christian a chance to respond, he slams the phone down on the receiver. Silence. He leans his head back, cracking his neck.  He looks over at his family.

 “Come on, help me get up. I have to look good when he gets here.”


End file.
